A Distraction from Dreaming
by zelasswilder
Summary: "I dunno how you do it, Lassie. Always findin' me when I'm outta my element. It's happened so much I'd almost venture to say you've gotta radar." Set in Season 1. Rated for Sawyer's language.


**Author's Notes**: This is set somewhere in season 1. Michael and Walt are still around. Just a little Vincent & Sawyer one-shot I needed to crank out before I go on spring-break.

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He hated it when he couldn't sleep. Off the island he would just open up a bottle of whiskey and take a chug or two to soothe his nerves. Here he knew it would be stupid to waste the liquor for something as childish as a nightmare or two. No, he needed to save it for _real_ misery. With him it was guaranteed to come his way. James Sawyer Ford always got hit a little hard by bad luck.

The blonde ran his shaking palms across his jeans and stood up in his tiny tent. It'd be best to get to walking. Maybe a stroll on the beach would get his mind off of it. He could find a crab and poke it until he got bored and decided to kick it into the ocean or something along those lines. Maybe get a stick and poke a washed-up jellyfish. Anything was better than sulking in that damned tent. If he got too emotional about the past he'd have to start going by 'Shepherd' instead of 'Sawyer'.

Sawyer took a few steps out of the tent and looked up at the sky to decide just how late it was. He never realized how dependent on time he had been before getting stuck on Craphole Island. He also didn't know how irritating it could be to be so clueless about something that didn't matter. Whether it was midnight or 3 in the morning didn't matter. Not like he had a reason to get up early in the morning anyway. Not knowing just burned him up inside though. He was about three days away of being clueless before he went and stole that damn watch off of Jackie Chan. At least that would hold him over for a little while; at least, until Doc Holiday went and made a nifty sun-dial.

His eyes went from the moon to the waves of the ocean and he sneered in irritation of the high-rising water. It was late enough for him to be alone though. That's all he needed. Nobody needed to see him look slightly vulnerable. That'd ruin the fun of his manipulating games if they actually cared.

One foot mechanically placed in front of the other in his signature swagger led him more along the water's edge and he began to meander along the coast. His eyes on the ground as he thought about anything other than his dream. It was that signature pain-in-his-ass memory that reared it's ugly head right when his conscious should have been humming in his ear while he was awake. It seemed to only like to interrupt his sleep. It was almost annoying enough for him to want to make amends with the survivors he had purposely pissed off. Almost.

He sighed and lifted his head, glancing over his shoulder at the disappearing camp behind him. Kate's tent was shut and placed oh-so conveniently between his own home and Jack's little tarp-castle. Swampy eyes became slanted in irritation at the thought of being jerked around and he decided that Jack and Kate probably weren't the best subject to distract himself with when trying to calm himself down.

Nah. He shook his head to himself and scuffed his dirty boots against the sand as he thought about the others. A soft whine interrupted his thoughts and Sawyer looked to his right to see the golden dog staring up at him. Sawyer stopped walking and cocked his head slightly at the animal whose tail wagged at seeing he was being acknowledged.

Vincent padded closer to Sawyer and nuzzled that cold nose into the southerner's rough palms and Sawyer sighed, kneeling down slightly. "Can't sleep either, boy?" he mused in a gentle tone, not about to speak normally and wake the camp with his drawl.

The Labrador let out a little sort of _Rrrrrrrrrrr _of agreement and Sawyer smiled softly. "If I didn't have a lick of sense I'd think you understand me. But ya don't. If ya understood half the shit I go and say around other people you wouldn't be keepin' me as company," his head shook slightly at the very idea. Vincent licked his hand and Sawyer kneeled completely into the sand, running his hand over the dog's soft fur.

"I dunno how you do it, Lassie. Always findin' me when I'm outta my element. It's happened so much I'd almost venture to say you've gotta radar," Sawyer smiled warmly at the dog who panted up at him. Vincent plopped down completely now and nuzzled closer to Sawyer who wrapped his arm slightly around the animal. He had had a dog very briefly as a child. It hadn't lasted long in the environment he'd grown up in but he'd enjoyed it while he could.

Granted, the dog hadn't looked much like Vincent. It had been a mutt of sorts. The dog had a fluffy gray coat with spots of darker colors along the edges. Sawyer had named him Smokey.

Vincent growled, almost seeming to know Sawyer was doing him dishonor by thinking about his previous pet. The conman blinked and looked back at him with a smirk, "Jealous dog," he laughed softly and he scratched behind Vincent's ear before there was a loud crash in the forest behind him. The anti-hero of the Oceanic survivors stood up and stared over into the jungle to see a tree crash down. Vincent scampered off, back to the camp, and Sawyer watched him as he did so.

"Bye," he drawled in light amusement of the cowardly canine before turning his eyes back to the jungle. Another sort of roar and another tree falling. Despite not having a good night, Sawyer decided that being dinosaur food wasn't at the top of his list for anytime soon so he trudged up to camp and slipped back to his tent just in time to hear that boy talking to his dog.

"Vincent?" he groggily groaned. "Stop wandering around and lie down," Walt added tiredly before letting out a large yawn.

Sawyer smirked and shut the flap of his tent before he could be seen. He didn't need to have Michael on his case for distracting his boy from having a good night's sleep.

He was distracted enough for the entire camp anyway, Sawyer decided. He shut his eyes and tried to finish off the night's sleep. That night he dreamt about Smokey, the dog of his childhood.

But instead of barking, Smokey made _ticka-ticka_ noises at him.

Sawyer really needed to figure out what he was doing before bed that made him have these freaky-ass dreams because he was getting a bit concerned for his sanity.


End file.
